Page 13 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
“What?” Darcy demanded.
“Horatio has lost a shoe.”
Darcy cursed under his breath. Disaster upon disaster. “How is that possible?”
“The boys have been riding the horses to exercise them, sir. Unfortunately, one of them must have put Horatio up yesterday without realising.”
This was shocking negligence on the part of Bingley’s grooms. Darcy would have to speak to his friend about it. He glanced back at the house. Perhaps he could still leave today and write Bingley a letter.
“Miss Bingley has arrived, Anders. Please, tell me that we have enough healthy horseflesh to make our departure.”
Anders straightened to his full height, which was still nearly a half-foot shorter than Darcy. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “The mare is still favouring her leg a bit, sir.”
“She was fine yesterday,” he said, frustrated.
“You can check on her if you like, Mr. Darcy,” Anders said.
Darcy almost took Anders at his word, but fortunately soon thought better of it. Satisfying his pique was not worth insulting the best coachman he had ever employed. “Are youcertain?”
Anders nodded. “She was not in a good way this morning, and now with Horatio needing a shoe . . . you could ride, I suppose, but it’d be a rather cold journey.”
It was a sign of how little Darcy wanted to see Caroline Bingley that he gave serious consideration to that notion. There were six good hours of light for riding each day. It would take him three days. Maybe a bit more. He had good gloves, a heavy coat, and stout boots.
Ultimately, his good sense won out. He could not ride all the way to Derbyshire in December. This was a nightmare. How could Miss Bingley have possibly known that he would still be here? And how had she arrived from the north so quickly?
He hung his head and reminded himself not to be conceited. Miss Bingley was not here for him. There was no way she could have known his departure had been delayed. No, she had refused to attend the wedding and was now here to make demands of her brother and attempt to cow her new sister. No doubt she had worn out her welcome with the Hursts.
“This is not happening,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his head hard enough that his scalp protested. He let his hand fall.
Anders was looking everywhere but at him. Darcy had never known his coachman to behave in such a way, but then Anders always took such excellent care of the horses that Darcy could not recall the last time there had been one such event, let alone two. Darcy did not blame him—it was simply bad luck. But Anders would feel it was his responsibility.
Darcy had only wished to leave Elizabeth Bennet’s company before she was forced to inform her sister or Bingley that she was uncomfortable in his presence. She had been pleasant enough at the wedding breakfast, but she could not want him here. The honourable thing to do would be to leave her in peace.
The white coach belonged to Mrs. Hurst but was only large enough for two. Darcy wondered if Mrs. Hurst was here as well or if Miss Bingley had come with a companion instead. He hoped the latter. Mrs. Hurst was innocuous on her own, but when she was with her younger sister, she took on all of Miss Bingley’s least attractive qualities. And the way she played with her bracelets, making them clink one against the other . . . Most would be able to ignore it, but once Darcy had noticed, the sound drowned out everything else. It was all he could do not to wrest them from her wrist and fling them out the window.
Darcy squeezed his eyes shut. His irritation was not under good regulation. “See that Horatio has a shoe today,” he told Anders brusquely. “We are leaving tomorrow morning, even if I have to pull the carriage myself.”
Anders’s lips twitched, and Darcy would not stay to listen to his driver laugh at him. He turned, the skirt of his greatcoat swirling out behind him, and returned to the house.
Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield just as a small white carriage was being driven around to the stables. How curious. She had not expected that anyone else would be visiting for at least the first week after the wedding.
“Hello, Carstairs,” she said as she entered the hall. “Shall we have snow soon, do you think?”
“Good day, Miss Bennet,” said the butler. “Might just be cold enough for that.”
“Has someone else arrived?” she asked pleasantly. “I thought I saw a coach as I drove up.”
Carstairs frowned. “Miss Bingley has come.”
Elizabeth stood still for a moment. “But she did not attend the wedding.”
“As you say, Miss.”
“Is she here to cause trouble?” Elizabeth’s question was spoken as much to herself as it was to Carstairs, but the butler answered anyway.
“I could not say.”
“Youwillnot say. Youcouldsay a great deal.”
